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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801527">Mayfly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlankA4/pseuds/BlankA4'>BlankA4</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fire, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Historical, Mayfly, New Miraculous, One Shot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:47:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlankA4/pseuds/BlankA4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayflies are known for their short life span, here one day gone the next.</p><p>In Victorian London a new miraculous holder will take up the challenge when a fire at a workhouse calls for their aid.<br/>This is the story of the mayfly miraculous and a child named Max.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mayfly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is the story of the mayfly miraculous and a child named Max. </p><p>On a cold christmas eve in victorian london a pickpocket is making their rounds. A crowd exiting from the cathedral looked promising, all the men well dressed in black tailed suites and women hiding under black veils. A funeral party maybe? It doesn’t matter our pickpocket friend is on the hunt and a crowd is a crowd. Brushing shoulders and stumbling among the crowd our friend’s hands are busy exploring pockets even as they mumble ‘sorry’ and gaze up with wide innocent eyes, distracting their prey. Shall we give our friend a name? They are a short child, with matted dark hair, sharp eyes and soft lips. Their name is Max.<br/>
Max broke through the crowd, pockets a good deal heavier with loose coins. With measured steps they walk away, not too fast to draw attention but fast enough not to be caught. Or at least that is what our friend was thinking just before they felt a firm hand grasp their elbow, turning them to face a woman who’s veil is not quite hiding the tear tracks or tremble of their lower lip.</p><p>“You missed this.” she says, pressing a button into Max’s hand, “Eliza s-she… she asked me to pass it on. G-good luck.” With that the women melted back into the crowd, her black dress blending in with the other mourners.</p><p>Max had been needing a button, the middle button on their coat had fallen off a few days ago. Tying the button onto their shoe lace for safe keeping Max plodded on into the night not noticing the dark grey kwami that trailed after them silently.</p><p>~~~</p><p>“You can save them. You can stop this. Just say ‘May spring’s here’.” the kwami had been following Max silently for months, staying out of sight and unnoticed by all. Just letting the world go by. Only interfering with the human's life to finding a shilling or half crown to sneak into Max’s pocket when the nights got cold and their stomach rumbling awoke them.</p><p>Max’s mouth was hanging open, eyes locked on the tragedy unfolding before them. A workhouse was on fire, huge plumes of thick black smoke pouring out the windows obscuring the sun. The building sat behind a high iron railed fence where a short set of steps lead up to large oak doors. Large oak doors that leaked smoke and wouldn’t open.</p><p>“Max! You can save them. I can help, just say ‘May spring’s here,’' the kwami flew in front of Max’s face, blocking their view of the fire. </p><p>Panic flooded Max's mind briefly, before they pushed it to the side, they didn’t believe in much but one thing they did believe was if you could help you should. Decision made Max called out “May spring’s here!”</p><p>In a flurry of grey sparkes and a quick spin Max found themself clothed in a glossy black smoak, with leggings that faded to a bright white at the ankles. Strength flowed through their muscles as with a step and a leap they were over the rails and at the door. The door handle was hot to touch and painful to pull on but with a grunt Max had it open only to be greeted by a lung full of smoke. Peering inside Max could make out a crowd of bodys collapsed around the door. They grabbed the nearest and carried them out into the courtyard, the kwamis strength making the weight feel like nothing. Again and again they went into the smoke until the hall was clear and outside a few of the workers were coming to. </p><p>A sharp scream drew Max’s attention to a second floor window. Backing up to the railing Max poured every ounce of power they could into their legs, driving forward to then kick off the wall and catch hold of the window ledge to then pull themselves into the room. It was a large hall with sleeping mats scattered over the floor, dirty brick walls, and a wooden floor. CRACK. Part of the floor gave way tumbling into the hungry fire bellow leaving Max and the others in the room to scramble back against the wall.</p><p>“Mumma!!” a child made towards the gaping hole where an older woman was lying half of the edge. </p><p>“Stay back darling, Mummas going to be…” her words were cut off by the groan of the floor. Panic filled her eyes as she turned to look at Max, her eyes begging to be saved even as she slipped further over the edge. </p><p>Max jumped into action, sweeping the women up and jumping away even as the floor crumbled below them. Voting through the window Max landed heavily jarring their legs but only stopping to put the women down in the courtyard before running at the wall and back into the room. Scooping the child up Max climbed out the window being more careful to land gently this time. </p><p>Max’s muscles ached even as they ran up the wall for the third time, only to miss the window and fall painfully down. Plan B. Crouching low to avoid the worst of the smoke Max entered through the main door eyes straining to spot the stairs. The smoke made it hard to see and stung their eyes causing tears to fall freely. Guessing at the end of the hall Max pushed open a door ignoring the heat burning through their hand. The crackling of the fire grew louder and a great whoosh engulfed them. Walking through the fire hurt but not in the way Max expected, it was like pulling muddles out of their hair. It hurt like when you pull the hair tight and you know it will hurt more when you pull the muddle out but to Max it felt like they were stuck, hair pulled tight but unable to fully pull the muddle out but the knowledge and feeling that it will hurt much more later.</p><p>Up the stairs and through the fire Max followed the sound of a childs call. The fire licked at their ankles, the smoke filled their lungs and their skin cracked but their steps were sure. A left and a right brought them to the final door. With a short run they slammed their shoulder into it, bursting through the wood in a shower of splinters. Inside five frightened faces looked up at them, fire reflecting in their eyes as hope filled them. Max could do this. They could help. Striding over to the window Max tore down the curtains tying them together and gesturing to the nearest child to come to the window. Carefully Max lowered them down, hurrying as the air from the open window only served to feed the fire. As soon as the child had let go of the curtain Max pulled it back up and repeated the process, the fire ever creeping closer. By the time the fourth had their feet on the floor the fire was so close that the heat was almost unbearable. The last child was perched on the window cill, leaning out trying to gasp around the smoke. With a final nod to them Max lowered the last child, as the end of the curtain caught fire; hungrily racing up the curtain to Max’s hands where they struggled to hold on as the fabric burnt and disintegrated beneath their fingers. Feeling the weight lift from the curtain Max collapsed to the floor.</p><p>The fire burnt, the smoke choked, and the building collapsed around them. But it was alright. They had helped. Their work down they rested in the flames eyes closing for the final time.</p><p>A dark grey kwami spiralled out of the button that had been tied to Max’s shoelace. The shoelace had burnt leaving the button to roll away from the charred corpse and roll through the ash and out of the smoke. In the daylight there was nothing extraordinary about the button to be seen. Exactly like there is nothing extraordinary about mayflies.</p><p>Our pickpocket friend's pockets has burnt through. The mayfly has been and gone. And the button? The button awaits its next helper, to bear a burden they know not. For like a Mayfly they will be here one day, gone the next.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading :D</p><p>I tried to write Max without specifying a gender, and using 'they' in stead of he or she. Did it work? Was it confusing?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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